


The Bittersweet Twist of Fate

by Holly_Turner



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Abuse, Eventual Smut, High School AU, Hospital, Low Self-Esteem, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Physical Abuse, Poverty, Self Harm, Slow Burn, Support, first fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-05-31 21:24:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6487861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holly_Turner/pseuds/Holly_Turner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl Dixon is a redneck nobody with a home life that just might break him and a brother with good intentions but poorly judged actions. Can the new kid with the piercing blue eyes and honest smile get through all his walls and save him from himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Day Back

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic ever and I'm trying to contribute to this fandom and my new fave Paul Rovia A.K.A Jesus. I am hoping to make this a long one. I will tweak it as I go and hopefully I will manage regular updates. Reviews would be so helpful I wanna know what anyone reading this would like to read about and I also wanna know if I'm doing characters justice. Yes there will be smut be a lot further down the line. I'm wanting to get a decent plot and not just have it be porn. So thanks for reading this and I hope you enjoy.

Daryl awoke drenched in sweat with his long, dirty blonde hair stuck to his forehead, matted from his rough night tossing and turning after being haunted by yet another nightmare. His father and that goddamn belt were the main feature as per usual, black leather glistening with blood while the cruel laughter echoed from above him and the insults went round and round like a stuck record leaving his mind as battered and scarred as his thin, wiry body after a summer of abuse.

Today was the start of the new school year and he found himself struggling to get enough oxygen into his weak lungs. It had been a rough summer but the game in the woods behind his house had been plentiful so he wasn't noticeably malnourished. Not like anyone would question it if he was, no one ever had, he was just some scrawny kid from the wrong side of town with a drunkass daddy and a brother with a dangerous reputation who had penchant for meth. Although he had his brother to thank for his badass reputation, it left him friendless and alone. This meant he was severely lacking in any social skills, having only his brother and father for interaction and neither of them were particularly good role models for learning the basics of making friends. This all lead to a crippling anxiety disorder that caused him to fuck up more than he cared to admit.

When he finally managed to shake himself out of his thoughts the sun was only just creeping over the horizon, for any normal person this would mean they had plenty of time before school but being the poor fuck Daryl Dixon was, he had to peel himself out of the blood and sweat soaked sheets to assess the damage of last night's brutal beating and take care of lashes both old and new which was the worst way to start the day he imagined. He crept as silently as he could manage in the rickety old trailer avoiding the creaky floorboards to the bathroom where he stared into the cracked mirror carefully taking in the damage without letting himself linger on his protruding spine and ribs lest his self-esteem get any fucking lower if it was even possible. The lashes weren't too deep, he'd had worse so he began the painful torture of cleaning his wounds with a cheap bottle of vodka he had managed to keep out of his dad's greedy hands, the burn helped remind him he was still breathing and his father hadn't gone too far this time.

It was over fairly quickly and he proceeded with his morning routine of an icy cold shower before getting dressed in a pair of ratty jeans with a hole in the knee that were more patches of random fabric than denim, they were also a few sizes too big since they once belonged to his much stockier brother Merle. As was the shirt that had long since lost its sleeves, the only thing he actually wore that hadn't been passed down through the rest of the family was his black hoody that he had managed to pick up at Walmart the week before with money he had earned working his summer away in Dale's garage. It was the one place he felt almost comfortable among the beat down trucks covered in grease and engine oil away from his tyrannical father and brother with good intentions but shitty actions. It was the only thing he was confident in other than hunting but at this point in his life hunting was more out of necessity than for enjoyment. If he didn't hunt he didn't eat, he still found it fun but the pressure bled the pleasure out of it especially in the winter when he was freezing his dick off trying to find the tiniest trail of anything that could mean he didn't spend another night dealing with the gnawing ache of hunger.

He dressed carefully trying not to catch the shirt on his aching wounds, he packed his shitty rucksack for school that he had repaired more times than he could count and laced up his hiking boots. On his way out he sparked up his first cigarette and let the smoke soothe his nerves a little on the long walk to school. His house, if you could call it that, was on the other side of town, the wrong side, so it took him 45 minutes to walk there and 45 minutes to walk back every day. But it meant he got out of his father's way for longer so he couldn't complain. Any time away from that bastard was worth it even if the walk gave him more time to build himself into a panic about all the people he would have to deal and the too small classrooms crammed with bodies that in their very essence were loud and irritating all carrying a pair of eyes that seemed to follow him everywhere he went.

As he was approaching the high school he stomped out his 3rd and final cigarette before stepping through the gates into the third level of his own personal hell. As soon as he stepped through the doors into the main hallway the cacophony of teenagers hit him square in the ears. After a summer spent in the relative solitude of the garage and his own home the noise was almost overwhelming, he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his hoody and stalked to his locker avoiding contact with other as students as best he could in the crowded hallway until some piece of shit ran straight into his back and sent him stumbling forward blindly, the pain from his rucksack and this fuckers body colliding with his injured back was enough to make him curse under his breath and flinch so hard it looked like he was having a conniption. The person who collided with him rushed to haul him to his feet while apologising profusely, Daryl just shoved the guy away and began righting himself, cringing a little as he felt the cuts reopen on his back,

"Oh my god, I am so sorry I just wasn't looking where I was going. Are you ok?" the clumsy asshole asked him.

When Daryl finally managed to get his brain in some sort of order and actually processed what was going on he felt his face start burning. Everyone must be looking at him. Laughing at him. His breaths were now coming too short. He pushed past whoever it was in front of him with a swift, "Fuck off asshole," and practically sprinted to his locker. This couldn't happen, not now, not in the middle of the corridor. He ignored the call from behind him and just kept going as his vision started tunneling, this was not the time or place for his brain to be pulling this shit, not on the first day back. Suddenly he remembered he had to go grab his timetable from homeroom before he could even begin anything else. He had to face that asshole Mr Walsh first thing on a Monday morning after that embarrassing incident and now he was late since he had spent so long at his locker trying not to pass out. Well shit today was just turning out peachy for Daryl.


	2. Mr Walsh Dickbag Number 1

Even though Daryl pushed the door open as quietly as humanly possible it didn't stop all eyes in the classroom being drawn to the door. Mr Walsh was a pit bull in a tracksuit with the voice and attitude of an army drill sergeant, whoever incurred his wrath was either very brave or very stupid. Either way it was very unfortunate. He took no bullshit from anyone especially a scrawny redneck like Daryl who was unlucky enough to be late on the first day back. Daryl started to slink to his seat as quickly as he could but Walsh was already starting a rant to the entire class about punctuality and Daryl was the victim of his stern glare and harsh words.

"Mr Dixon, so good of you to join us I assume you think the rules don't apply to you. Well I have news for you, redneck trash, if you are late once more in the next year you are gonna have hell to pay, and it won't just be from your daddy neither," the man finished in hush tones as he walked up and leaned in so close Daryl could feel his coffee laden breath on his neck as he said his piece.

His hands began to tremble and in a vain attempt to stop the onslaught of panic he sunk his teeth deep into his lower lip, dug his nails so hard into his palms that he felt blood trickle down his fingers. His eyes stared unfocused at the floor as his father's verbal abuse was ringing in his ears. He was transported back to the night before where that bloodstained belt flashed before his eyes, his back started to burn with the pain and knowledge of what he hid just under his shirt. He just had to get through the next 20 minutes then it would be over and he could breathe again before going to whatever lesson he had next. He hoped it was art he needed the quiet and peace holding a paintbrush gave him.

Daryl had been stuck in his head so deeply he hadn't noticed the new student strut in rather breathlessly and introduce himself. Paul 'call me Jesus' Rovia, sauntered (yes fucking sauntered because he is confident like that) to the only free seat in the room which just happened to be next to Daryl. As Jesus pulled his chair out the racket it made on the linoleum dragged Daryl out of the maelstrom his thoughts had become thanks to dickbag Walsh, as he started at the noise he got caught in the almost luminous blue eyes of the new guy and swiftly looked away trying to remember how to breathe all over again but for a completely different reason. Those eyes were all he could see now and he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad. Today was turning out to be very strange and unsettling. Every time he blinked those eyes were all he could see. He shook his head and tried to concentrate on what was happening around him.

As soon as Jesus saw that generic black hoody and patch work jeans he felt the guilt he had been struggling with since he crashed into the poor guy triple. He really was sorry that he wasn't looking where he was going. The school layout was a maze and trying to find home room had been hard enough. Since the hallway debacle he'd been trying to figure out a way to make it up to the random student he'd collided with, after the prickly response to his help he was immediately intrigued by this strange boy, so quick to flinch and refuse any sort of help. After having studied the cliques in the hallway it seemed odd for any student to be completely alone, everyone had had at least one person to catch up with, even the loner kids had someone. But not this kid and Jesus was determined to give this guy at least one friend. And fuck it, he would befriend the weird kid if it was the last thing he ever achieved.

Walsh handed out the timetables and Jesus was tried to find the perfect way to make a good first impression or at least get a good look at his timetable. As luck would have it his new neighbour's timetable slipped to the floor in-between them. He lent over to pick it up at the same time as 'Daryl Dixon', which was apparently this lone wolfs name. Their fingers brushed for a millisecond. Daryl pulled away so fast it was like he'd just been burned. Weird that his reflexes would kick in from a simple brush of fingertips. Just as quickly as he'd moved away Daryl snatched the timetable up and before Jesus could shift his gaze from the floor Daryl had his eyes focused on his desk like the piece of paper was the most fascinating thing in the world. Meanwhile Jesus was trying to get a peek at Daryl's timetable to see if they had any classes together and it just so happened they both had art after home room today but that was it until after lunch so he'd have to make do.

They spent the rest of the lesson listening to Walsh drone on about some bullshit or another. Jesus was trying to get a better look at Daryl through his hood and Daryl was trying to ignore the feeling of Jesus' eyes gouging holes into the side of his skull. Just as Daryl was about to tell this freak to stop staring in a less than friendly manner the bell went signaling he was free. He had never shot out of a classroom so fast in his life leaving Paul to chase after him and try to avoid another hallway mishap lest he piss off any more students temperamental students.

He caught up with the elusive dick biscuit that was Daryl Dixon outside the art studio and took his chance to introduce himself properly. Making sure he was prepared for anything he jumped right in front and Daryl, put on his friendliest smile and stuck out his hand, "Hi I'm Paul Rovia but people call me Jesus." Was what he would have said if he had gotten more than half way through the sentence before Daryl barged past him into the classroom to take his seat and left him introducing himself to thin air. So much for making good first impressions right?


	3. Jesus doesn't get punched

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I updated again... 3 times in a week... Lucky for you guys that I don't have a social life. Thank you sooo much for reviewing this it means so much that someone actually wants to read this shit. Lots of angst and confusion. This chapter is also double the length of the first 2 and I hope you like it. Tried to get in Daryl's head a bit and I hope it worked ok. Also I do not have a beta so feel free to point out any mistakes you come across and I'll try my best to fix them.

Chapter 3

Who did this guy think he was?! Blocking Daryl’s path. First invading his homeroom then his art class. Did this guy not understand why everyone else stayed away from him? Daryl slammed his bag onto the desk in front of him and grabbed the chewed up pencil from the bottom of his bag with his battered and almost full art book. He turned to a mostly clean page and began doodling without thought onto the paper. When he actually zoned in on what he was drawing he had half a mind to rip the page out. There staring up at him were those wide blue eyes that belonged to the clumsy asshole. So Jesus could walk on water but not manage to use his eyes and feet at the same time? Pretty funny when he thought about it. The smirk on his face quickly changed into a slight frown. Why was he thinking about this guy at all? Why was he drawing those eyes? And why was this prick at the forefront of his mind?  


Just as Daryl was building himself up into a state he felt the desk underneath him move. He shifted his gaze to the right and saw that same gloved hand from the doorway and homeroom. This guy just wouldn’t quit. He continued up the arm until he was looking at him from under his long fringe at the surprisingly bearded face of Daryl’s new stalker. The guy had a beard that could do the dwarves of middle earth proud. Given the man’s below average height a dwarf seemed like the right thing to compare him to even if he lacked the stocky build and had hair that was far too well groomed. The deep brown of his hair contrasted jarringly with the sky blue of his luminous eyes. He was rocking a man bun that showed him for the hipster he was and even though it was far too warm he was wearing a leather trench coat and fingerless leather gloves which just screamed weird fashion statement to Daryl even though he knew next to nothing about fashion. Everything he owned was out of necessity, clothes included. He didn’t understand why some upper class looking kid would need such a heavy duty coat. It was really something Daryl could use in the winter months when he spent entire weekends tracking deer and freezing his dick off knee deep in snow. The length would impede his movement but the warmth would surely be worth it. Daryl couldn’t see under the coat but he assumed the rest of the outfit was expensive and designer much like the kid’s Dr Marten boots with the Nirvana logo painted on the side in bright yellow to match his laces. The soles of his shoes had a layer of dirt and the sides spotted with mud as was the bottom of his coat, Daryl noticed on closer inspection. How odd, Daryl mused to himself.  


Jesus now had the chance to have a proper look at Daryl and this guy was indeed very thin for someone so tall but he could see with how the jeans hung loosely on his frame that there wasn’t much there to fill out the patchwork jeans and hoody he sported. His hair hung over his eyes which prevented him getting a decent look at them but his lips were thin and the scruff on his face clearly wasn’t grown for fashion reasons but more out of necessity which seemed to be the essence of Daryl. If Jesus only had one word to sum up Daryl’s look it would be necessity, from his mud coated hiking boots to his black hoody it was all there to keep Daryl hidden and safe. He kept his hood up and looked through the strands of hair that fell in front of his eyes thinking they stopped the subject of his attention from noticing his gaze. This was all just another defense mechanism which would usually work but Jesus was an observant person and not much went unnoticed. He rarely missed details especially one the size of an entire person even if that person was trying their dammed hardest to be overlooked. This just caused Paul to get even more curious about the infamous Daryl Dixon.  


Both boys were pulled out of their own thoughts by the teacher Miss Peletier entering the room. She was a thin woman of slightly above average height with short grey hair similar to that of a ducklings’ down. Kind but tired blue eyes were her most noticeable feature. She held a defensive but strong air around her which showed her as a forced to be reckoned with. No one wanted to get on the wrong side of her. There was one time she caught kids shooting spit balls at the back of Daryl’s neck and boy did those assholes get a fright when she snuck up behind them and whispered in their ears. It is unknown what she said but no one had picked on Daryl in front of her since. Daryl didn’t even know it was down to her that he managed to get through a few lessons a week with a semblance of peace.  


She shot a kind smile at Daryl who just averted his eyes after a millisecond, the tips of his ears going red. No matter where she saw him Miss Peletier always gave him a kind smile and Daryl had no idea of how to handle that situation so he was forever looking down waiting for the heat in his cheeks to die down. All of that from embarrassment caused by his lack of social skills. Daryl for once didn’t mind it so much when she smiled at him because at least it wasn’t the leer of his dad’s creepy friends or the sneer that graced Walshes’ face every time he looked at him. But it made him uncomfortable nonetheless. He just couldn’t figure out why she smiled at him and it drove him crazy. There was no reason to smile at him, he was a nobody and he liked it that way he hopelessly tried to convince himself.  


Jesus was dragged up to the front of the classroom for the second time that day to introduce himself as the new kid and tell these greedy gossiping bints a little bit about himself… Not his idea of fun but he didn’t mind it so much. With his father being a rather well known businessman he was used to this kind of treatment and expectation from the countless company dinners and events he had been forced to attend. A chore he very much disliked but had grown used to over the years as his dad’s motorbike business expanded. ‘The Saviours’ was what he would inherit and sure he enjoyed tinkering in the shop but his real passion was art. His dad loved to use his diplomacy skills to his advantage when trying to close a materials deal or handling a particular difficult client. If art wasn’t his passion, he would try his hand at politics or maybe charity work. However, art always came first much to his father’s dismay. Forever the family disappointment. Paul was nothing if not stubborn, not one to cave to anyone’s will but his own. Daryl had no idea what kind of force he was dealing with just yet and fuck when he found out was he gonna be in a tricky situation.  


As Rovia took up his seat again right next to Daryl he produced a rather fancy art pad and some of the nicest art materials Daryl had ever clapped eyes on. He had been watching the new guy as discretely as possible and was more than a little surprised at the confidence with which this kid addressed the hungry gossip vultures that littered the room. He longed to have that level of confidence but knew it was an utterly futile train of thought that he should hop off of at the next opportune moment for his own sake. He was happy being the outsider he tried to tell himself once again. This is the way it was meant to be. The way it always would be for him. His accursed second name made sure of that.  


The Dixon name came with its own violent standoffish reputation. Born under that name you were expected to be a rough, tough sonofabitch. His daddy and his daddy before him had all been the same. No one had broken the vicious cycle of the abused turning into the abuser, his brother was too far down that road already. Too similar to his father were his vices and even though Daryl loved him and knew Merle would protect him he was also fearful of the much larger man. He even looked like his father with the same broad frame and dead blue eyes. He had even mastered his father’s cold hard stare. Daryl would do anything not to go down that rabbit hole but he could already feel himself falling. With no one to throw down a rope and pull him out he was utterly helpless and he had resigned himself to his miserable future long ago.  


Jesus managed to catch Daryl’s eye as he mooned over the expensive art supplies. He had finally found a way to start a conversation.  


“So do you like what you see?” Paul said in a joking manner.  


Daryl physically bristled at being addressed in such a natural manner. Completely stumped as to what to say he settled with a simple, “Yeah nice materials man.”  


As Paul smiled even wider (how was that fucking possible? People can’t have smiles that wide?!) Daryl blushed beet red and turned his gaze back to his page chewing his bottom lip again. Jesus followed Daryl’s gaze and what he saw on the page left him lost for words which was not an easy feat. Staring up at him was his own eyes wearing a peculiar expression he didn’t actually recognise. With that thought he realised Daryl was one of the most talented artists he’d ever come across.  


Without thinking he said, “Woah Daryl that is amazing, you are so talented. Man I’d kill to be able to draw like that!”  
Daryl turned so red he thought he was going to set on fire.  


“Ain’t that good,” He murmured and shuffled in his seat. Uncomfortable with the compliment.  


Quickly turning over the page he began drawing absentmindedly waiting for those eyes to stop looking at him when after 15 minutes of trying to concentrate on anything but the feeling of that stare on him he gave up and turned to Rovia, “Somethin’ else you fuckin’ wan’?” He said.  
Slightly taken aback at being addressed he replied, “Just observing a masterpiece being created by a very talented but very modest person, you Daryl Dixon are a great capturer of beauty and I don’t plan to miss an opportunity to watch you work.”  


Daryl was utterly dumbstruck. How was he supposed to reply to that?! Was this guy insane or just blind? Maybe he was stupid? He was probably mocking him… Yeah that was it. Well he wasn’t gonna take this lying down.  


“Fuck off asshole. Go bother someone else. Not here to listen to ya take the piss outta me.” Daryl said defensively. His whole posture got ready for a fight while his eyes had this frightened look in them.  


Paul held his hands up defensively trying to placate the man in front of him, “Hey I was being serious, I’m not mocking you I genuinely think your work is amazing,”it completely threw Daryl.  


Daryl lost his entire argument as soon as he made eye contact, there was no malice or amusement in the eyes of this stranger, just honesty and it completely threw Daryl. Most guys would have just got up and sat somewhere else but not this guy. He wondered why. The reputation of the Dixon men was known far and wide thanks to his brothers’ tendency to wander. So why did this newbie not just back off or leave him alone? Paul interrupted Daryl’s thoughts, “I know your name and I’m not gonna fucking back down. I wanna get to know you Daryl Dixon if you’ll let me. You don’t scare me.” He finished with a shrug. 

Fuck how did he know what Daryl was thinking? Maybe he actually was Jesus… Now he was just being stupid Jesus wasn’t real. This was just some bearded hipster with the most beautiful blue eyes Daryl had ever seen. Fuck had he really just thought that? He knew he wasn’t particularly interested in girls but fuck was he gay? No he wasn’t. He needed to stop thinking like that right now. Fuck if his dad found out he was dead. 

Daryl closed the conversation with a swift, “Fuck off will ya?” which didn’t deter Jesus even in the slightest. He just smiled slightly and replied with, “No,” in a tone that left no room for argument. 

Daryl just shrugged, said, “Suit yaself” and continued with his drawing. Daryl was puzzled by his own reaction to this guy. Normally with an answer like that it would have ended in yet more confrontation but he just couldn’t bring himself to hurt this kid who clearly wasn’t going away anytime soon. 

Jesus just sat there drawing for the rest of the lesson humming to himself and trying not to notice the faraway look in Daryl’s eyes. He took this as a victory since he had come out of the conversation with no bruises and Daryl was still there. 

The bell shook both boys out of their own heads enough for them to start packing away. Neither of them paid any mind to the other students and pretended not to notice the other. Daryl hadn’t packed his bag any slower in his entire life, he couldn’t figure out why but he was starting to regret being so gruff to this guy. He just wanted to drag out any time he had in Jesus’ presence. It seemed to ground him and, strangely enough, stop his head jumping off the deep end. Neither knew just how much they would come to miss the other’s presence throughout the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think review it or just give it a kudos. Thank you so much for reading.


	4. Jesus Gets Punched

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update for you all. Bit of bitch getting this one down but I hope you like it. Feedback is always welcome. Thanks for reading.

Daryl's next 2 lessons flew by, any material that was covered ran in through one ear and trickled out the other. He had been too busy thinking about the new guy who liked to go by Jesus because who doesn't like to be named after a deity with awesome facial hair. He must have sold his soul to the devil to be rocking that majestic piece of beardography at 17. Daryl knew grown men who couldn't muster that much hair on their face no matter how hard they tried. Daryl himself could only manage stubble and the reason he had that was because he didn't see the point of buying razors, if you couldn't afford food grooming routines took a real hit. What really amazed Daryl aside from the blue eyes that seemed to hold the light of the stars was the fact that even though he had tried, admittedly not that hard, to dissuade the guy from befriending him he seemed hell bent on making sure Daryl had at least one friend.

Daryl was still puzzling this over as he made his way to the lunch hall to sit in the corner away from the hulking mass of bodies to eat his meagre lunch of deer jerky that he had made himself thanks to the boiling hot temperatures of the Georgian summer and a lone granola bar. To any normal student this would be a snack but Daryl had survived on less and by winter this would seem like a feast. He was making the most of it.

As he was tearing off a rather sizeable chunk of deer jerky he caught sight of that leather trench coat moving through the swarm of people. He seemed to be accompanied by a girl with short reddish brown hair and an Asian guy he recalled as Glenn. They shared the same trigonometry and English class. The guy seemed nice, very bookish as well as more than a bit nerdy but he had never been cruel to Daryl and smiled at him if he ever caught his eye (which wasn't often). He thought he recognised the girl, Maggie maybe from Biology. She was good at animal biology he remembered. As was Daryl. You figured out a few things about animals when you had to think like one to track it then skin it for food. Something you learned early in the Dixon household. Daryl's eyes migrated back to the centre of the trio and he realised he had been caught staring yet again by that fucking annoying prick. Instead of scowling at him or pulling a face Jesus just waved and smiled. Without thinking Daryl smiled back. After he realised his possibly fatal mistake he ripped his eyes away and scowled at his jerky with such heat that he may as well just set it on fire. He never smiled! Not at anyone, so why did this prick force Daryl to forget all his social ineptitude and fear?! What was he doing to Daryl? That's it, its witchcraft that's the only plausible explanation for this shit. Or that's what Daryl tells himself anyway as he glares holes into his jerky.

Seeing Daryl sitting there all alone in the corner sent a pang of empathy shooting through Jesus' gut. How could such an attractive guy be so lonely. The entire student body crashing like waves against the island that was Daryl Dixon. Every island needed trade routes and allies to survive. So Paul was determined to be Daryl's ally. With that thought in mind he excused himself from his new friends, Glenn and Maggie, and made his way over to the isolated Mr Dixon. He took the seat across from Daryl and tried not to crowd him too much. He didn't want to be a bother but he was sure his persistence would eventually warm Daryl's bitterly cold shoulder if he just kept at it long enough. He was nothing if not patient when he wanted something this badly.

Daryl didn't notice Jesus approach until he heard the clunk of a lunchbox being placed on the table. His head shot up at the noise, 'Oh great he was back,' Daryl thought grumpily. He couldn't even get through his lunch in peace. He was burning with need to break the silence but he was not going to give Jesus that satisfaction. He was Daryl fucking Dixon for Christ sake. Why was he this flustered over this guy?

Jesus could practically see the thoughts churning through Daryl's brain. In an attempt to calm his fluster, he said, "Um hi again, long time no see I guess,"

Paul finished this with a nervous chuckle. Paul hadn't been this nervous around a new person in a long time. But at least he knew why he was nervous. Daryl was attractive, even if his face did sport an expression that could compete with a lemon for sourness, Jesus knew he himself was gay and had known for a long time but had yet to feel a desire this strong to get to know someone. Daryl was important, he was someone who needed just one person to put the effort and Rovia was more than willing to get to know the real Daryl Dixon. Even if he had to take a sledgehammer to everything he held dear.

Jesus continued when he got no response from Daryl, "Maggie and Glenn are so cute, definitely made for each other. You can see they have the sort of love people only dream of. They look a little mismatched but they make each other into better people. You know what I mean?"

Being asked his opinion on something was a situation Daryl hadn't really found himself in so he went with his instinct and replied rather quietly, "I dunno, Don' really pay attention to that sorta shit. Not importan' in the grand scheme o' thangs."

Jesus was slightly taken aback with the long response and burned with the need to question what was important. Never one to keep his curiosity at bay he asked, "So what is important in the grand scheme of things?" One eyebrow became quirked up as he waited for Daryl's answer.

As always Daryl just replied with a non-committal grunt since words weren't his strong point. Jesus just chuckled under his breath at the response his question had gained. He decided he'd explain his thoughts on the matter, "Personally, I think nothing is more important or beautiful than 2 people so perfectly matched for each other. I don't think anything can stand in the way of 2 souls so meant to be intertwined that they are unconsciously drawn to each other. It trumps upbringing, class, background… It is the one thing that can heal all wounds. It's the best thing in the world."

Daryl was shocked at that little monologue. What was he getting at? Was he just waxing poetic or did his words have some link to Daryl? And why was he hoping they did? Ugh this was driving Daryl round the bend.

Daryl just said, "There are bigger problems though and I ain't never seen nuthin' that powerful."

Jesus was slowly getting through Daryl's walls he could see the foundations becoming weak, just a little push, "Well what are your problems that are stopping you letting anyone in?"

That did it Daryl was gonna punch this guy. He shoved roughly away from the table and stood up getting as close as he could let himself to Jesus, "Ya don' know nuthin' bout me. Stop trynna get in my head and leave me the hell alone. Don't want ya here." With that said Daryl stalked off to the playing field. God he needed a cigarette.

Jesus was torn between going after Daryl or giving him his space. Never one to back down from a challenge, which is what he was viewing Daryl as now, he got up and followed the prickly redneck out to the field.

Daryl heard the light footsteps behind him and once he got to his normal tree he whirled around all thoughts of cigarettes forgotten, "Will ya just fuck off and leave me be. Can't you see I don' wan' ta talk to ya? You don't leave me alone I'll make ya regret ever coming near me." He squared up to the shorter man, getting all in his face. Jesus just leant in and whispered, "Maybe I can't leave you alone."

Daryl reacted to this by punching Jesus right in the jaw. He felt his knuckles connect with the soft beard before the crunch of the fist connecting with his jaw. It all happened in slow motion and Daryl felt like he was watching it all happen with no way to stop it. A whole new wave of self-loathing crashed over Daryl as he stared at his hand like it didn't belong to him.

Jesus saw the fear in Daryl's eyes and longed to clear those eyes of such a sad emotion. He moved his hand up to cup Daryl's face but at the slightest touch Daryl flinched quite violently. The delicate touch shook Daryl from his thoughts and he sprang into action, grabbing his bag from the floor and taking off while Jesus just stood looking at where Daryl had once been tentatively touching his jaw. Man that was gonna bruise in the morning, 'thank god for his beard,' he thought as he turned and walked back inside the school. It was gonna be 2 steps forward 1 step back trying to get Daryl to open up. Jesus readied himself for the task he had set himself as he walked to his next lesson. "That could've gone better," he said to himself with a sigh.


	5. Daryl's Typical Night In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bitch to write and its a bit short but I hope you guys enjoy it. Be warned it does contain sexual abuse and self harm. I'm sorry about what I do to my poor baby. Don't hate me too much.

The rest of the day was a drag for Daryl. It seemed to go on forever but all too soon he was making his way home, hood pulled up to protect against the wind and the chatter of students planning their evenings. The smog of the shitty cars starting up choking him and making his eyes water as he walked past. The long walk would have been enjoyable if it wasn’t for the fact he was making his way to the shit hole he called home. Every step closer to the trailer echoed like the start of an old engine, the dread building up so quickly he couldn’t swallow round it. His breaths were coming short and fast as he turned the corner onto his street. He stubbed out the cigarette on his arm trying to find something else to focus on but the pain just wasn’t enough. He had to get off the streets and away from the prying eyes of his neighbours. He couldn’t be seen like this. He was too exposed. With his fear screaming in his head, holding him on the brink of an anxiety attack he stumbled as quickly as his legs would take him into the woods behind his house. Not stopping to even deposit his school bag. As soon as he was a safe distance from his father’s hateful gaze he let himself break down, falling to his knees on the dry dirt. Fuck this. He needed to sort himself out and quickly. Even though he knew he could get through the night his lack of safety and the constant fear he lived in pushed him to tears. He spent so long curled up on the floor crying the sky had turned pink in colour. He came round from his panic and let out a much needed breath. Sucking in the air hungrily letting his lungs expand and revelling in the feeling of oxygen filling him up. As he lay there just existing he started wishing he was staring into blue eyes while encompassed in an embrace. He was simply too exhausted to do any soul searching on the matter so he stood up, brushed the dirt off himself as best he could and started trying to find his way back home. It wasn’t hard since he knew these woods like the back of his hand, by now he could probably get around blindfolded.  


As he stepped out of the treeline he noticed his dad’s truck wasn’t around, maybe today wasn’t so bad after all. At least he could grab some food and get to his room without even having to breathe near that man. He might actually be safe tonight. He entered the house and did just what he planned, eating quickly just in case then swiftly falling into a deeper sleep than he usually allowed himself.  


Daryl’s sleep was not wracked with its usual hellish nightmares, instead it was a rather pleasant dream involving warm hands and soft lips accompanied with the hint of rough beard, the smell of the woods and the tender touch of a safe embrace. The soft lips became more urgent on his own and the hands went from featherlight touches to needy grabs, Daryl could feel himself leaning into those grabs and returning each kiss with fervour. As beard-framed lips ventured down Daryl’s jaw and neck he felt himself start and let out moans of pleasure, the hands gliding lower, brushing his sides so tenderly, reaching down to delve into his boxers and pull out his throbbing member. One hand began stroking up and down his now rock solid cock eliciting the sweetest whimpering from the hunters’ lips, the hand increased in pressure and speed and Daryl could feel himself reaching his climax. “Oh fuck Paul,” he said under his breath, opening his eyes he found there, staring back at him, those blue eyes heavy lidded with lust. He leant his forehead against Jesus and kissed him softly revelling in the feeling of those lips on his own.  


Daryl awoke with a start as he heard his bedroom door slam open. When had his father gotten home?  


“You sonofabitch, thinking ya could drink all ma whiskey and get away with it?” Daryl was dragged out of bed by his hair and slammed him into the wall pressing up against the back of him. His dad leaned in so close he could feel his whiskey laden breath on his neck, “I’ll show you what happens to people who steal from me, you useless, worthless freeloader. Thinking ya can take from me without me knowing, I ain’t a dumbfuck like you, I’m worth o’ you and one day maybe you’ll learn that.” He slammed Daryl’s head into the wall and stepped back to let him crumple to the floor, he grabbed Daryl’s arm and forced him into the bathroom while undoing his belt. His grip enough for Daryl to feel the bruises that would surely be left there from his father’s meaty paw.  


“You ain’t even gonna try and fight me boy? Looks like you enjoy this a little too much, dirty scrawny faggot, just like your dirty bitch of a mother. Always ready to get on her knees and take it like the whore she was,” he said drawing Daryl’s attention to his wilting boner that was still standing to attention due to his dream and gave it a rough squeeze and tug making Daryl whimper pathetically. A leer twisted his father’s features into a contorted mask of sickening sadism. He knew what was coming next when his father grabbed the back of his head with one hand and pulled his stiff dick out of his pants with the other, shoving it into Daryl’s mouth choking him on it. Daryl felt tears trickle from his eyes as he gagged around his father’s pulsating erection. He would fight the man but he knew better than to try anything like that by now, he would never win against the tyrant and any attempt at placating the man was futile. He let his mind drift to the woods, his sanctuary, until his father shot his load down Daryl’s throat. He was left alone on the bathroom floor sobbing into the cracked linoleum, heaving himself up he threw the contents of his guts down the toilet.  


He stood on quivering legs and gazed into the broken mirror staring at his pale, rapidly bruising face from his encounter with the wall. His jaw ached from his father’s assault and the streams of tears still running from his eyes just served to make him feel weaker. With shaking hands, he turned on the tap and scrubbed his skin raw trying to scour away the taint of his father. Who would ever want such a dirty, tainted, worthless nobody like Daryl? No one would touch him if they knew about this. His father was right, he was pathetic and weak.

As Daryl laid himself down in bed he curled in on himself gingerly trying to find a position that didn’t irritate his back; he willed himself back into the warm embrace of his dream, wishing that had been the reality and his father had been the dream. Too worn out to even bother puzzling out what the dream meant Daryl fell into a light sleep picturing those eyes and recalling those soft lips kissing him so tenderly, longing them to wipe away the taste and feel of his father’s seed in his running down his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So guys pleeeeease review I need feedback to improve this shit. I'm sorry I've put Daryl though so much shit already and its gonna get worse before it get betters. Please lemme know what you think.


	6. Jesus's Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I know you've all been waiting a while for a new chapter but this one was particularly hard to write as its a little too close to home for me but I DID IT!! Yeah trigger warnings for self harm and drug abuse in this chapter. The last thing I want to do is trigger anyone so just read with care.

Jesus’ motorbike was where he left it in the school parking lot and as he was starting her up he watched that familiar hoody walk out of the school gates. He knew better than to push his luck again today. He would just have to wait until tomorrow.  
On the ride home he felt that familiar melancholy start seeping into his bones. Daryl had managed to make him forget his problems at least for a little while but after the slight reprieve his own issues began clamouring to the forefront of his mind demanding to be given attention. With his own mind focused on his problems his driving got more reckless and his adherence to the speed limit was slipping, taking all the corners at a dangerous pace, skidding all over the road and he couldn’t find it in himself to give a damn. This behaviour was not uncommon for Paul so he found no need to worry and from anyone watching him it would just look like another rebellious teenager. To those in the know however this gave away Paul’s little secret that he tried so hard to keep hidden from the world. Especially since he had an almost perfect life. Parents that were together and loved each other, money, a nice house in a nice neighbourhood… He had it all so why did he catch himself wishing he didn’t exist? Why did he spend his nights staring into nothingness? Why couldn’t he feel anything?  


All these questions raced through his head and before he knew it he was back in his room, sat on his bed staring blankly at those four walls. He couldn’t find the energy in himself to move so he pulled out his stash of heroin from under his bed. He needed something, anything to take himself away, just for a little while. He went through the process of boiling the heroin and wrapping his belt round his arm as a tourniquet very methodically. Tapping his elbow crease to bring the veins to the surface he steadied his hand and pushed the needle in, relishing in the ache it left behind, he eased the plunger down and let himself sink into his plush mattress. He felt the heavy weight of sadness ease as he drifted into oblivion.  


Paul was a smart intelligent person who just happened to be drowning in his depression, with no one to help him out his self-destructive behaviour had become more extreme and as time wore on he began to run out of clean skin to scar and no matter how many times he cut or how deep they were it was never enough to distract him. This had led to his occasional use of heroin. Determined as he was, he would not get dependant on it but right now he needed it to just drown everything out. Just to get through the night.  


Even as high as he was his mind was still haunted by thin lips and pale blue eyes that held so much pain. All he wanted to do was ease such suffering in a clearly very damaged person who had much more reason to be than he himself was. He felt himself descending back into his body and with his descent came the guilt his illness caused. He felt so weak and useless. He was never going to be able to help Daryl, he was just a toxic person who knew exactly the right words to say. But he needed Daryl and he felt so selfish for obviously causing the guy discomfort. The tiniest part of Paul’s brain chimed in that maybe Daryl needed him just as much. This little comment from the untainted part of his brain started a whole internal argument and he found himself crushing his hands over his ears trying to get it to stop.  


Tonight was one of his bad nights. He reached blindly into his bedside table and drew out the hunting knife his father had bought him as a present after he killed his first buck when they were out hunting. The blade glinted in the light from the moon as Paul drew it slowly over his left forearm, letting the blood trickle out and the pain burn out the argument in his head. He repeated this until his arm was a bloody mess and the burn of the cuts wiped his mind clean so he could breathe. He felt slightly euphoric as he let the blood loss wash over him.  


As the bleeding started to slow and his mind started functioning again, he began the irritating clean up job that this little coping mechanism caused. Grabbing the rubbing alcohol and bandages from the bathroom cabinet he stood over the sink staring down at his arm… This was the first time he had ever been so lost in his head that he had carved a word in his arm. In deep still bleeding wounds Paul saw the word selfish and it nearly made him throw up. When he blinked that word was printed on his eyelids next to an image of Daryl. He cleaned his arm roughly but thoroughly and bandaged it as best he could.  


He shed his clothes and got between the sheets, he needed to sleep and just cease existing. He was utterly worn out after his mental onslaught. As he drifted off into sleep trying to think happy thoughts his brain naturally turned to Daryl and that lithe body buried under those clothes. His dream followed a similar progression, Daryl was laid beneath him shaking with anticipation and those blue eyes clear of any pain just held a look of love that Jesus hoped would one day be for him. He stared into those eyes and after a deep breath brought his lips to meet Daryl’s, they tasted of the jerky he had seen him eating earlier and even though they were rough and chapped from Daryl’s constant worrying of them he couldn’t think of a thing he wanted to change about the taller man. As Jesus pulled up for air he looked back at Daryl and the once clear blue eyes had clouded over, the skin was pallid and waxy and between the gnashing bloody teeth were chunks of flesh. Jesus tried to jump away but Daryl’s arms locked him in place so he began thrashing in his panic. No matter what he did he couldn’t avoid Daryl’s hungry jaws, that mutated mouth bit into Jesus’s neck and tore out his jugular. With a gargled scream Jesus shot up in bed and tried to breathe. As his heart rate began to steady he felt at his neck making sure it really was just a dream. It had seemed so real…  


He looked at his alarm clock with tired eyes and realised he had a couple of hours before he had to be up so he turned over and tried to ignore the images from his nightmare dancing behind his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading I'll update soon I hope. Please review it keeps me writing when the block starts.


	7. Knuckles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So its been an age since I updated but my life hasn't been that interesting. The only excuse I have is my wonderful boyfriend keeping my mind occupied. I can feel myself slipping back into my bad mental space so now is a good time to write a new chapter. This chapter has been written while listening to Moose Blood's new album blush so I suggest you give it a listen. As always Kudos and comments are always appreciated. Much love, Holly.

Both Daryl and Jesus prepared for the school day in the same daze, unaware of the other's turmoil and rough night. They arrived at school within moments of each other just narrowly missing an encounter that neither one knew the other needed.  
Jesus was corralled by Glenn and Maggie to his locker doing his best to put on his happy face and ignore the itching of his arm and his veins screaming out for more heroin just to keep himself steady. He could barely concentrate on the optimistic chatter of the couple in front of him and was very much walking around with his head in the clouds, these clouds weren't the fluffy marshmallowy kind either, more like plumes of noxious gas left in a nuclear fallout. He just wanted to see Daryl. Just needed that one thing to keep him breathing and make him feel like he was actually present. He bid his goodbyes to Maggie Glenn promising to see them at lunch and made his way to his locker to collect his books for the first lessons of the day. His day always started with Dickbag Walsh and today was one of those days where he just knew that arsehole's sunny personality was going to be like a kick in the teeth, but at least he would get to his knight in hand-me-down clothes.

Daryl made his way through the hallways of hell trying to draw as little attention as possible, he mused to himself about making clothes that matched the exact fetid puss yellow of the decor so no one would even know he was there. The night before kept flashing in still frame images behind his eyelids every time he blinked, he could taste his father's rancid seed in every swallow and smell the stale alcohol breath every time he inhaled. He was far too used to this he thought, he knew from the babble of other students that his home life was far from what was considered the norm and he grew weary of hearing the petty complaints of how parents wouldn't purchase the newest cell phone or laptop at the drop of hat. These ignorant children didn't know how lucky they were and it made Daryl's blood boil. However, no matter how much he envied his peers he would never wish his torment on someone else, not even King Dick of the Moron Brigade Mr Walsh, or the Queen of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee Lori Grimes. His mind then chimed in telling him he deserved it and no one would give a shit if he wasn't even here. He proceeded from his locker to homeroom, making sure to be early today just to avoid another reason to be made a spectacle of.

Paul took his seat and waited anxiously for that beautiful blue eyed mystery to coalesce in the room, just as he was about to give up hope Daryl limped into the room slightly, hands shoved deep into pockets, head down, hood up. Looking every bit as vulnerable and defensive as was possible. As Jesus was staring unabashedly Daryl looked up and scanned the room to see who was already present. He locked eyes with Paul and was taken aback by the warmth he saw there, he felt his cheeks heat and cast his eyes back down remembering his father's taint and felt his skin crawl, feeling dirty and used. 

Jesus' mouth opened slightly when he caught sight of the bruise on Daryl's jaw and the haunted look in those eyes. While Paul was going over every way to bring up Daryl's bruises without making him feel uncomfortable and run away Daryl took his seat next to Paul and began rooting through his backpack. A crumpled pack of cigarettes fell out with his books and Jesus bent down to pick them up much to Daryl's horror. He knew he was done for, the new kid would surely tell on him for it. Much to his surprise Jesus produce his own packet cigarettes and whispered, "Snap," and passed Daryl the almost full packet of the same brand of cigarettes he had produced from inside his trench coat as well as a Zippo lighter engraved with his family insignia, keeping Daryl's almost empty carton and crappy lighter. Daryl looked up at Paul with a puzzled expression asking are you sure without uttering a word. Jesus just nodded and said, "Meet me by the old oak tree at lunch, I'm gonna need something to spark up with." He finished his sentence with a wink. Just as Daryl was trying to think of some sort of witty response Dickbag walked into the room and crashed through the whole moment like a wrecking ball reminding Daryl where he was what his life was. He had to be wary around this kindly stranger and he figured meeting him at lunch could lead to finding out this guys ulterior motives. That was the only reason he was meeting him Daryl tried to convince himself through the rest of his lessons. All of which passed in a blur as every possible scenario played through Daryl's brain like a movie. Hopefully he could get through this without another incident like last time he thought as ran a finger over his knuckles remembering the feel of his fist connecting with Jesus' face.


End file.
